


Don't you dare say I'm gonna make it, 'cause I don't believe a word you say.

by distantdreaming



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (ie specifics on triggers and whatnot), (it's Pidge), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Friends to Lovers, Genderfluid Character, Grief/Mourning, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Slow To Update, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), keith is sad, lance is a good friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8222101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantdreaming/pseuds/distantdreaming
Summary: Keith's plucked out of his comfortable life with his friends Hunk and Lance and Shiro - their collective babysitter who lives down the street - when his parents are taken away in a crash that alters his life forever. As a ward of the state, Keith learns to harden and change, and he doesn't see the squad again until college, when there's new arrivals Pidge, Allura, and Coran, and he doesn't know what to do with any of them. How does he reclaim his old life when he's no longer the same person? Will they recognize him, now, when he's changed so much?--Title from Too Close To Touch's bomb song "Sympathy"--Indefinite hiatus due to mental health. Unsure if this is something I can finish, up for adoption.





	1. childhood

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. Welcome. I'm Klance trash now too. Introductory chapter covering childhood and happy times. First fic for Voltron, far from my first fic on here. For you new readers: my notes are generally at the end, I don't have an update schedule but the more you yell at me the more I'll write/post, and I reply to each and every comment I get. I go by Raina, she/her, and I'm totally okay with you leaving essay comments or even little blurbs of a few words to react to the chapter. I hope you enjoy!

Lance has been his next-door neighbor for as long as he can remember.

Granted, he is six, and his memory isn’t very long, but as long as there’s been Keith, there’s been Lance, and Lance’s friend Hunk, and the boy down the street named Shiro. They play together, with Shiro in charge of adventures. Shiro makes a great captain, in Keith’s opinion, and he always makes sure everyone gets a cool part that’s fun for them, and no one has to be the weenie. 

Keith is usually the bad guy because he’s really fast and he likes running around and making everyone chase him. Shiro’s longer legs mean he’s usually able to catch up, but since he likes directing rather than actually chasing, Keith doesn’t need to worry about that being unfair. Instead, he gets to laugh when Lance’s fingers brush his sleeves and Hunk trips over some rock or root or dip in the ground.

None of them are graceful, but they’re six, so.

(Shiro’s twelve, and really a babysitter more than a playmate, but it’s okay because he never makes them do anything they  _ really _ don’t wanna do.)

Keith’s parents are gone a lot: at work, or in a meeting, or talking with Important People that Keith needs to Go Play Outside whenever they come over. It’s important, so it gets capital letters because that’s how life works.

Shiro says the people are called ‘coworkers,’ which means they do the same job his mom and dad do. Keith doesn’t actually  _ know _ what his mom and dad do, so it’s not like he can say Shiro’s lying. Shiro once tried to explain something called ‘government,’ but nothing made sense and he gave Keith a popsicle instead.

Lance likes to steal all the lime popsicles when he comes over, but that’s okay because Keith thinks they’re kind of gross. He tells Lance this sometimes, but it only makes Lance laugh and tell him the cherry popsicle he likes best makes his mouth look like ketchup is smeared all over it.

(Hunk likes banana popsicles best but they’re really hard to find so he usually has to settle for whatever isn’t cherry, strawberry, or lime.)

Anyway, Lance doesn’t like the taste of mint, and he’s a weenie that doesn’t like scary things either, so Lance isn’t that smart or brave. Keith is totally a better thinker.

Shiro tells him that’s not fair and that he’s being mean, but since Lance is only laughing at him, he doesn’t see how he’s being mean. It’s funny! Even Hunk is laughing, Shiro, Keith is being funny!

Shiro just does that thing where he sort of stares at them all with the same look Keith’s dad has on his face sometimes whenever he catches Keith sneaking out for water in the middle of the night.

Lance whispers that Shiro’s  _ old _ and he acts like their  _ parents _ and then the three of them are laughing while Shiro sets up lunch, and Keith steals the jar of peanut butter while Lance steals the jelly. Hunk grabs the bread, and then Shiro has to chase them all to put the sandwiches together.

It’s really fun, like it always is when they’re all together.


	2. growing older

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teen years. Keith realizes things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually post longer chapters, but I'm setting things up right now. :)

When Keith is thirteen, puberty hits, and things get weird.

Shiro’s already nineteen and he assures them it’s less gross and awkward in a few years, and Lance shrieks because  _ he’s gonna sound and look like this for the next three years???? _ and Keith kind of wonders if one day Lance is gonna break the sound barrier.

Lance’s voice breaks on the last word and Keith snorts, but Hunk busts into straight out laughter and Shiro looks at them like he’s exhausted by their mere presence, which is really only a look he gets before Lance throws one of his tantrums where he feels like he’s being made fun of and/or not appreciated for the ‘amazing guy that he is’ or whatever.

Keith tells him he’s full of shit and Shiro tells Keith not to swear and Hunk’s cheeks go all red because Keith used a Bad Word while Hunk still gets in trouble for saying ‘heck’ at his house.

Lance does same rant in Spanish that sounds a lot like insults, so Keith just tackles him to the floor and steals the rest of his fruit-by-the-foot and that’s the end of that.

Keith and Lance have this sort of…Shiro tells them they’re ‘frenemies,’ whatever the hell that means, and okay, sure. 

That.

Lance is really annoying but he also generally knows when to shut the hell up when it’s important and he’s also the only one that’s even remotely close to beating Keith at Mario Kart (Shiro creams them all, but he’s also  _ old _ and  _ fatherly _ so it doesn’t count). 

He’s…not Keith’s favorite person, per say, but Keith doesn’t hate him like he does the rest of the boys in their class (aside from Hunk, of course, because Keith’s pretty sure Hunk is the kind of person that is impossible to dislike, ever, for any reason, even with a name as stupid as his).  

But, really?

Lance is actually just the only other person he’s ever met who seems to think liking boys like you’re supposed to like girls is just the most natural thing in the world.

(Lance, of course, grandly declares that girls are amazing, if terrifying, and boys are kinda cute too, when you think about it, and that’s all the coming out he ever does.)

Keith…doesn’t see the appeal with girls, okay?

But. Boys?

Keith’s dad says people that like people of the same gender are freaks, that there’s something wrong with them and that they should be committed or medicated, not allowed to run around kissing and all that.

His family isn’t really religious, but they’re certainly against anything that’s not color-coded heterosexual behavior as outlined by history.

Keith would talk about how Native Americans, among other cultures, literally had a word for a third gender, and that even in the animal kingdom boy-boy relationships exist, but Keith also values the opinion his parents have of him so he keeps his mouth shut.

He likes it much better when he brings home A’s and his mom smiles at him and his dad claps him on the shoulder and they eat the usual staple of rice and whatever nice sides his mom bought for dinner. It’s not really traditional Korean food because that’s kind of expensive in the US, but it’s a good Americanized version, according to his mom, who’s from a lot less of a traditional family than his dad is. 

Keith just shrugs and digs in because no matter what it’s categorized as, his mom is a fantastic cook and he’ll fight anyone that tries to say she isn’t.

Especially since with this damn puberty shit, he’s  _ always _ some kind of hungry, and his mom gives him as much rice as he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I couldn't really put anything in the previous end notes without them trailing at the end of every new chapter, as they tend to float to the end of every current chapter (annoying) so I'm double posting instead. I'm [here](distantdreamingg.tumblr.com) on tumblr, and I'm always down to talk or have you yell at me to update. I reply to all comments right before I upload the next chapter, which is usually some random time in the middle of the night EST time. Tell me how you guys liked these two intro chapters, and feel free to try and predict things or just gush about how adorable these nerds are. Question of the day: would you guys want to see a chapter later on in Lance's or Shiro's POV, maybe?


	3. the beginning of the end of happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sad shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm keeping, like, a two chapter lead so I have a cushion in case I get a block. Anyway, yeah, bring on the angst!  
> Also. Had to change my tumblr url. Now I'm [here](spoopy-dreams.tumblr.com) if you guys wanna hmu.

He’s fifteen when his parents get into a plane crash that takes their lives and shatters his own into a million pieces.

It’s a fucking mess.

Shiro’s twenty-one but he’s denied guardianship because he’s nothing but an ex-babysitter, and Keith’s apparently got some random forgotten fucking family member way out west or some shit. So before he’s even done grieving, he’s packed up and on a train away from every part of his life that he’d ever cared about.

It’s not until he gets there that the state figures out that they were wrong and Keith doesn’t, in fact, have any family left at all.

He’s plunked into social services before he can even get the chance to call Shiro, and he doesn’t even remember Shiro’s number. He doesn't even have the tool to call him; he used to have a cell phone, but the service shut off two months after the funeral when his parents  weren’t alive to pay the bills, and he threw his phone at a wall when he realized and it broke. Now he’s out in the middle of nowhere, USA, phoneless, friendless, and so, so alone.

He clings to memories of Lance and Hunk and Shiro because they’re all he has left in terms of happiness, and he begins to draw and write down everything he remembers so he doesn’t forget it. Unfortunately, it’s hard to keep things like that when you’re a ward of the state, and Keith’s temper means he snaps when the other kids don’t listen to him when he says  _ don’t touch me  _ and  _ don’t touch that  _  and  _ leave me alone _ , he’s too old to be adopted, and ‘behavioral issues’ land him in a group home and steps away from juvie.

He learns to shut up and keep his head down and avoid the other kids, learns to fight and fight well because he lives in a sketchy area and he can make decent money if he can learn to win at street fighting. He’s fast on his feet and he’s got a helluva temper, as noted, so it’s really not hard to let reflexes and rage take over and keep going until the other guy is down and bloody. No one’s stupid enough to snitch when they’re involved directly to even know about it, either betting or fighting, so he isn’t worried about getting caught, just making enough money to get the fuck out of this town and go back home or go to college or, shit,  _ anything _ but stay in the fucking system.

He’s sixteen before he knows it, and seventeen flies by without anything notable.

It’s eighteen that has him free, enrolling in college and leaving behind three years of hellish homes and horrible kids and bloody knuckles and split lips, three years of grief and loss and anger, of losing who he was and forgetting how to smile without feeling like his chest is aching. He manages to get enough financial aid and scholarship money to get into a dorm on campus, so he doesn’t have to worry about finding a place to live or a way to travel, but until he finds a job or another Fight Club he’s living on about three dollars a day for food, which basically means ramen, ramen, and ramen with maybe an egg if he finds money on the street or something.

Whatever, he’ll deal.

He’s finally done with this orphanage shit, and he’s out of these group homes where everyone tells him he’s a problem child and how did his parents ever love a kid like him no wonder they left him behind on their vacation and he’s exotic, sure, but he’s never gonna be adopted. He fucking  _ hates _ the government and the system and all the bullshit he’s been forced to deal with just because he was unfortunate enough to lose both parents  _ and _ the guardianship opportunity from his closest friend besides, like, Lance, if that was ever a friendship.

He’s bitter. He’s  _ jaded. _ He’s gonna be bitter for the next twenty years, at  _ least, _ just out of spite at this point. He’s saltier than an actual salt mine and he doesn’t even have any sort of cool poetry to fuel all his Teenage Angst into. He just gets to stew in it and try to find blacker jeans and darker shirts.

Maybe college will help, he thinks, but maybe he’ll become a world-renowned ballerina. The odds are honestly about the same, but he’ll take classes if it means financial aid will pay his rent and he can work to save for something larger than a refrigerator box, since all his Fight Club money is going straight to decent fucking clothing and bed sheets and things like his own laundry detergent and, like, a fucking phone.

He’s gonna get one of those prepaid basic phones, probably, and he’s gonna do his damndest to get out of having to end up with a fucking ancient Nokia, because he doesn’t care how sturdy they are  _ he needs a phone not a brick. _

Knowing him, it’ll be a flip phone.

Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QOTD (Question Of The Day, gonna be a thing here now): What's your guys headcanon last names for all these dorks? Because...Pidge and Shiro are the only ones with canon full names, so. That's kinda...an issue lmao. Help me figure out what to do for Lance, Keith, Allura, Coran, and Hunk!


	4. college

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ayyyyy lmao it's time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing much to say beyond y'all are cute af and I love you, enjoy.

He’s nineteen, the campus is as familiar to him as the block he used to live on as a kid, and he’s got a job working as a barista at a coffee shop that’s like an off-brand Starbucks, and he  _ hates _ dealing with these complicated pretentious bullshit orders, but he really likes being able to eat something other than Ramen or plain white rice so he’s dealing. Unhappily, sure, but he’s managing nonetheless.

The customers are all tired professors and dead-on-their-feet students, with the occasional bright-eyed  _ one tall chai latte with soymilk please!  _ mixed in. It’s quickly turning into something Keith can do mechanically, faking a smile and taking orders, ringing up and handing change, making drinks and calling them out. It’s customer service, so it pays pretty shitty and it’s brainless and exhausting, but it works. 

After the first few weeks, he begins to notice regulars; there’s a tall girl with gorgeous white hair and elaborate makeup on a warm brown skin tone, and she always gets these green tea concoctions that take about ten minutes to make. She tends to be talking with an orange-haired professor with a mustache that even had Keith mildly impressed, and both of them have slight, implacable accents. They show up every Tuesday and Thursday around four thirty, and he assumes they’re a professor and TA duo for some nearby class. 

There’s a person of indeterminate gender — and they haven’t given Keith their pronouns yet, and he doesn’t know if asking a random customer their pronouns is appropriate just because they show up weekly is a Socially Acceptable Thing, so — with these huge, vintage, very round glasses and thick brown hair, and they’re short and kind of cute and they get, like, triple shots of espresso straight and Keith’s sort of concerned for their health. Still, it’s every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at one, and they sit studying until one thirty each time. 

They all gave Keith names in the beginning, but he’s got a great memory for orders and a shit memory for names, so he just puts happy faces where the names should be or some random phrase like  _ have a good day _ or whatever generic bullshit passes through his head and it makes all three of them smile, so it works. They barely even have to get in line anymore, they just flag his attention, pay, and go wait. It allows him to interact that much less and he likes it. 

It’s a Friday, and it’s his last shift until Sunday, and it’s nearing one. He’s been standing on his feet since nine-thirty that morning, he gets off in half an hour, and his head is pounding. He’d pulled an all-nighter to study for an exam he’d had to take in the Testing Center before noon today —so he’d’ve had to get up obnoxiously early if he had slept and since it had seemed, last night, to just be easier to stay awake all the way through…well, he regrets it now. He’s fucking tired, and his head hurts, and this is bullshit. He’d probably have gotten a B without studying, and this headache wasn’t worth the however many more points he’s getting for an A. He’d rather have taken the fucking B. 

He wipes down the counter irritably and tries to convince the universe to make time go by a little faster, but the universe still seems intent on fucking him over because the bell above the door jingles and he hears multiple sets of footsteps. He’s so not in the mood to deal with any more people today, but he plasters on his Customer Service Smile™ and lifts his head because that’s what you do when you don’t want someone talking shit to your manager. 

Except. 

He’d recognize those freckles, those blue eyes, that messy brown hair anywhere, even if the face around those features has aged a few years. He knows that upturned nose, that easy smirk, those ridiculously expressive brows. 

It’s Lance. 

He stares, and he feels his smile get stuck halfway between  _ How Can I Help You So You Leave As Fast As Possible _ and  _ It’s A Great Day Outside And I’ll Be Happy To Take Your Order _ , but he can’t bring himself to fix it. He can’t do anything but  _ stare _ . 

Lance seems to be having the same problem since he’s got an expression that seems to be a cross between a laugh and complete, utter shock. His eyes are as wide as saucers, and Keith can’t help but soak up that particular shade of blue because it means and has always meant  _ Lance _ . 

He doesn’t even realize that Hunk - for it’s unmistakably Hunk with the markedly Eighties Aesthetic and warm face and tall, full stature - is beside Lance until he hears his name. 

He blinks, dropping the rag he’d been using on the counter so he can wipe his hands on his apron and then push his hair out of his eyes, just to make sure he’s not imagining anything. “I, uh, yeah.”

“Keith!” Hunk repeats, striding forward and yanking him into a hug over the counter. “Hi, buddy! We didn’t think we’d see you again! How’ve you been??”

Keith’s eyes are probably as wide as Lance’s, and he sort of scrambles in the hug, not used to affection anymore. As delicately as he can, he pulls away. “Yeah. I, yeah. Things happened.”

Lance hasn’t stopped staring, and he hasn’t moved, and beside him is that brown-haired bespectacled regular. Okay, what?

“So, wait. My barista is the guy you never shut up about?” The regular asks, and Lance turns bright red and fumbles about four different starts to a sentence. Hunk says something too, but if Keith’s being completely honest, he really only has an attention span for Lance right now, so he doesn’t catch a word of it. 

“You, you  _ work _ here??” Lance says finally, sounding scandalized, and Keith can’t help the half smile his lips quirk into. 

“Yeah,” he says, relaxing a little and leaning his hands on the counter. “I do. I’ve been working here since the start of the semester.”

Lance flails his hands in the air and turns to the regular. “Pidge! Why didn’t you tell me your barista was my old best friend???”

_ Pidge, _ right, that’s the kid’s name. 

Pidge shrugs. “To be fair, you suck at describing. All you told me is he has ‘ _ the shiniest black hair’ _ and ’ _ the nicest eyes ever, _ ’ and neither of those are really defining characteristics.”

Lance flails wordlessly at Pidge, and Keith has to muffle a chuckle, watching him fondly. For all that Keith dislikes emoting that much, he loves watching Lance. He always has. Lance always had that extra bit of energy to him, that extra flair that sucked you in and made you watch. 

“We should catch up!” Hunk says enthusiastically. “We found each other again!”

Keith’s a shitty person because as much as he’s missed Hunk, he still can’t tear his eyes away from Lance as he nods. “Yeah. I get off in about half an hour, I don’t have any classes today, either.”

“I have a class at two,” Hunk says morosely. “Aerospace Engineering 101, or Intro To, or whatever. I always forget the actual name.”

“Oh.” He finally,  _ finally _ drags his eyes from Lance’s dramatic defense of his ability to describe  _ anything, Pidge,  _ _ anything _ , and focuses on Hunk. “Sorry. When’s it end?” 

“Four,” Hunk rolls his eyes. “We’ve got a test today. Pidge has the same class, and he wants coffee before we take it. Lance is just walking with us, though, he doesn’t have the same class.”

“Oh.” He’s working, right. “Well, what kinda coffee? I already know Pidge’s order.”

Hunk doesn’t look at all surprised, just smiles wider. “I’m a simple man. Black, large.”

Keith nods, setting about making both Hunk’s and Pidge’s order. When Lance gives up defending himself, he orders this ridiculously complicated cappuccino, but since it’s  _ Lance _ , it’s the only order that would’ve been believable. Unfortunately, Keith has to serve other customers after them, and Lance and company retreat to a table until Pidge and Hunk leave for class, and then Lance watches Keith drown in coffee orders by himself until his (late) coworker shows up and finally takes his place so he can clock out. 

Lance’s stare almost made him fuck up a few times, but he’s thankfully got the ability to work under pretty much any kind of pressure. He manages to do everything correctly. When he’s finally swapping his apron for his red jacket, though, he feels the nerves begin to rise. 

He hasn’t seen Lance in years, and the fucking kid shot up like a beanpole. Sure, Keith’s gotten taller too, but…that’s really not the reason he’s worried. Lance is  _ older _ . They’ve grown,  _ apart _ , and it’s weird. 

What if they don’t like each other anymore? Keith’s not the same person that he was before. He’s jaded, he’s bitter, he’s rude. He’s not a nice person, he’s not a hugger, he doesn’t like to be touched at all, he doesn’t really like to talk…he’s different.

What if it’s a bad different?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's weird writing in a different fandom I don't know how the Voltron fam is compared to the pjo fam, and I think I only brought one of my old readers over. Apparently, space hell has a different population from demigod hell, aha. How are you guys? What are you into? That's the QOTD. What's the best part of this fam? What's your favorite thing about being in it?


	5. lance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yay I'm back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm sorry.

When he finally emerges from behind the counter, he gets an armful of Lance, and Lance’s stupid green apple shampoo that evidently hasn’t changed since they were kids. He’s got some kind of cologne on, too, but Keith’s face is shoved against his hair so he mainly just inhales apples. It’s nice, and Lance is warm, and he hugs back before he’s even really thinking about it, closing his eyes and breathing in the emotions of finally feeling like he’s somewhere he belongs.

Leave it to Lance to make him feel at ease, even after all this time.

He wants to feel something more than relief, but…it’s really all he has. Utter and complete relief, and the heat in his cheeks.

When they pull apart, Lance is  _ beaming _ , and he doesn’t hesitate on grabbing Keith’s hand and dragging him out. “I don’t have any classes today either, I followed them because Hunk’s my roommate and I get bored left alone, I was just gonna wander campus, but I found  _ you _ , and that’s so much better! That jacket’s ridiculous by the way, and when’s the last time you even cut your hair? Is that a mullet??”

He’s talking a mile a minute and Keith’s really glad they’re around the same height because otherwise Lance would probably be walking as fast as he’s fucking talking. 

His hair is not a fucking mullet, okay, he just…hasn’t cut it in a while.

Shut up.

It’s not a mullet!

“I got the jacket at goodwill,” he defends, picking at the red fabric, fully aware that it’s a crop top jacket and also that he really likes it. “And I don’t have a mullet.”

“Right,” Lance agrees, but it’s the way you agree to a toddler that has no idea what they’re saying.

Keith half glares at him, and he gets another beaming, glowing smile in return.

He’s still so incredibly glad that this is  _ Lance _ that all he does is give him a light shove. “Shut up, you dork.”

Lance laughs, and slings an arm around Keith’s shoulders, and Keith…doesn’t push it off.

“Shiro’s still living here!” Lance announces, and Keith feels another monumental rush of relief. “Yeah, he lives on a different block, but he’s here. He finished his degree, he’s a flight director at the airport, or something. Something with planes. He loves it.” Lance shrugs, the movement jostling Keith, but he still doesn’t care.

Lance’s touch isn’t like anyone else’s; it doesn’t make him nervous. He isn’t afraid of fucking it up, and he can lean into Lance’s side as they walk and it’s not weird. It’s just nice, and he’s so fucking lucky to have found this kid again. 

“And you?” Keith asks, watching as Lance’s grin gets that particular dimple whenever he’s offered an opportunity to brag about himself.  _ Some things, _ Keith notes happily,  _ never change. _

“Well, I’m not totally sure what I’m going for, but I have time to figure it out, so right now I’m just taking generals. I figure by the time I’m done with that, I can figure it out.” Lance speaks with free gestures with the hand not resting on Keith’s bicep, and sometimes even with it, and he almost hits Keith in the face twice. He talks about each of his classes and Keith learns he tested out of Spanish (of course he did; he’s Hispanic) and that he loves Comp I but detests math, which makes Keith roll his eyes. Lance has always sucked at numbers but he can handle words just fine.

Listening to Lance talk is nice. His voice changed, it’s smoother and a little bit deeper but he still talks fast and fills pauses with wordless sounds, exaggerates by dragging out his words, and speaks like he’s flailing. It’s cute, and it’s familiar, and Keith finds himself smiling at Lance as he listens.

After a while, Lance notices, and he gives a nervous laugh. “Why are you staring at me?”

Keith looks away, finding that Lance had led them in a walk around campus with no real destination, and that they were now by the Theatre building. “I missed you. It’s nice having you back, and I always liked when you talked.”

He can  _ feel _ the heat Lance’s cheeks are suddenly emanating, and he grins wider, turning back to see his ridiculous, surprised expression. 

“You, you did?” Lance asked, all genuine surprise and fondness, if Keith’s reading him correctly. 

“Yeah,” he says slowly, confused. “Of course I missed you. I missed everyone. I didn’t want to leave; I had no choice. I didn’t even have a fucking aunt, though.”

Lance’s face goes through a quick series of expressions, settling on frustration. “ _ What?” _

Keith looks away, because he can also see a little betrayal and he can’t deal with that right now. He lets Lance keep that arm around his shoulders, because it’s comfortable and nice and warm and Keith’s not really used to anything like that anymore, but he’s a little bitter. 

“It’s not my fault,” he says, defensive before he can stop himself. “She died a few years back but the paperwork had gotten mixed up and she was still registered as being alive. It was a mistake. And since I was already there and Shiro was already denied, they put me into the system. I couldn’t contact you guys, I didn’t have a phone after a month or so and I didn’t have access to computers because I couldn’t stay late at school and all the libraries were far as fuck. By the time I got access, it was…awkward.”

Lance pulls away, and it feels like rejection and he can’t help but close his eyes. Before he can stew in it, Lance’s hands are on either side of his face, and his eyes fly open in surprise. 

Lance presses until Keith’s cheeks are squished. “You should have contacted me. Awkward or not, I  _ missed _ you, and we didn’t know where you’d gone or why. You were just…gone. It  _ sucked _ , and you shut down all your social media!”

Keith winces. “I couldn’t deal with all the pity.”

Lance squishes his cheeks even more, until Keith grabs his wrists and pulls his hands away with a mumbled  _ what the fuck, Lance, _ which goes ignored. 

“You’re such a hermit! Do even have any friends right now?” Lance accuses, and it’s a little sharp. 

Keith feels his temper kick in. “First of all, how fucking  _ dare _ you--”

“That’s not an answer,” Lance says, cutting him off. “No. I  _ tried _ to find you, I did everything, I searched for you on Twitter, on Tumblr, on _M_ _ yspace _ , on Facebook, Keith.  _ Everywhere _ . Your phone shut off and you dropped off the face of the earth! Did you not want us anymore??”

Lance looks like he’s in pain, and he twitches like he’s about to reach for Keith again, but stops himself. Keith’s heart aches, and guilt rises up, shame making his cheeks burn. He looks away, unable to take the actual betrayal on Lance’s face. “That’s not…no, I did. I just.” He stops, realizing he has no idea how to continue,and starts again to try something else. “After it, after it happened, I kinda…I shut down. I didn’t want to deal with anyone because all I got was pitying expressions  and everyone walked on eggshells or they told me I needed to get my shit together and get over it. And when I got into the system, it.” He stops again, because his throat closes up. 

Lance stares, waiting, and he fidgets because he can feel the heavy gaze. “I don’t know how to explain it. I didn’t like it. My stuff got stolen and I had to give up everything I knew about and everything I owned because there were kids bigger and meaner than me. I was told I would never get adopted, either I was too old or too Asian or too stupid or too mean or whatever. And I started fighting back, so I got moved, and it happened again, and again, and they put me in a group home because I was a ‘problem case’ and then things just kind of…got worse from there.” He pulls his hands through his hair. “I didn’t know what to say. I’m not the same person.”

“Yes, you are,” Lance says flatly. “You’re Keith Kogane.”

Keith blinks, and stares at him, not sure what that means. All Lance does is grin, though, and squish his cheeks again before Keith even realizes his hands have moved. Annoyed but strangely endeared, Keith knocks his hands off again. “Stop that, you’re so fucking weird.”

Lance laughs, warm and free, and Keith feels something in his chest loosen and settle, like a part of him he hadn’t known was missing just slid back into place. Lance had always been tactile, and Keith had always been not, but Lance was his exception to every rule.

_ Don’t touch me, unless you’re Lance. Don’t talk so damn much, unless you’re Lance. Be quieter, unless you’re Lance. Don’t stare at me, unless you’re Lance. _

Shit, he’s such a sap.

Lance’s hand slides abruptly into his hair, and he’s jerked out of his thoughts. Surprised, all he can do is stare until Lance wiggles his hand free and it comes back with a leaf between two of his fingers. “You really should look into getting that trimmed.”

Keith feels an unwanted blush rise up. “Shut up,” he snaps, flicking the leaf away, “you’re so annoying.”

“You love me,” Lance dismisses, loosely, “you love all my annoyingness!”

“That’s not a word,” Keith says instead of agreeing, shoving at Lance’s hands when they get closer to his cheeks. “Stop squishing up my face, you’re terrible.”

“I missed it!” Lance defends. “And it’s so  _ different _ ,  who knew you had cheekbones?”

Fuck, his blush is back. He ducks his head, scowling, but Lance isn’t perturbed in the slightest, instead taking his hand and yanking him forward into another quick stride. 

“I bet Shiro’s home! Today’s his day off!” Lance says it so happily, tugging Keith along mercilessly.

Keith’s chest seizes up a little out of anxiety, contrary to the earlier relaxing. He’d purposefully picked the college in his home city, but he’d…he hadn’t expected to actually see anyone he knew, for some reason. He’d only known three people well, after all, and the school was a very large one. He hadn’t been looking, either.

He  _ certainly _ hadn’t planned to go anywhere near the street he used to live on.

He stops walking when it’s getting genuinely hard to breathe, and he feels the yank on his arm when Lance is tugged to a stop as well. He doesn’t look up, though, because he’s more concerned with the clamps around his lungs that are making it difficult to pull in a breath. They’re icy, and they fill his chest, dripping frost on his ribs and coating his heart. At the same time, heat fills his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and then his focus drifts from worrying about Lance’s reaction to this kind of embarrassing moment and he’s instead left only able to hear how loud he’s breathing and how fast his heart is beating and wondering if this qualifies as a panic attack.

He loses sense of time for a while, and it’s unclear how many minutes have passed before he registers Lance’s touch.

Lance’s hands are again on either side of his face, but this time his face is much closer, and they’re sitting on the sidewalk. Bystanders hover at the edge of Keith’s vision, concerned randoms that mumble in the distance, and he can’t yet make out their words. All he can see are blue eyes and freckles on tan skin and soft brown hair, and before he realizes it, he’s matching Lance’s breathing and his heart is starting to slow.

“Good  _ querido, _ good. You’re doing really well!” Lance’s tone is gentle, encouraging, and Keith locks onto the sound until his head stops spinning so much.

He’s offered a water, and he takes it, taking tiny sips. It’s not until he’s halfway through it that he realizes he’d just had a panic attack in the middle of campus, and about twenty people saw it, and four or five of them are still watching, and Lance is kneeling in front of him like it’s about to happen again.

He can feel his expression close off, and he shifts to stand, irritated, embarrassed, and frustrated with himself. Lance scrambles up with him, but he doesn’t say anything, merely hovering uncertainly nearby.

Keith sighs, rubbing his face. “I’m fine,” he says flatly. “It happens sometimes. It’s no big deal, it’s just disorienting.”

It’s such an understatement because it feels like hell, he feels like hell, and he’s always half-convinced this is what it feels like to die when he stops being able to breathe, but he’s not about to  _ announce _ that.

“Alright,” Lance says carefully, and his stance relaxes. “Let me know if you need anything, though?”

“Yeah,” Keith dismisses quickly, and instead he chooses to lock onto something else. “Did you call me ‘darling’ just now?”

Lance’s entire face turns red. “No.”

“Right,” Keith says, unable to stop the smirk that rises up at that blush. “Sure, I heard you wrong.”

“Totally!” Lance nods quickly and takes his arm, moving to stride forward again. “Anyway, lovely weather we’re having!”

Keith can’t help but laugh, and though thinking of confronting Shiro after  _ Lance’s _ reaction to his excuses is terrifying, he doesn’t want to panic again or say no, so he pours all his focus onto Lance and what he’s saying and how blatantly obvious he is when he’s trying to change the subject.

It’s cute, and it shows Lance hasn’t changed as much as he could have.

As much as Keith has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College is hard as fuck at this university? Or it's not the classes but just the stress of money. I got hired, though, so there's that. I just finished finals this week and it's the holiday season and yeah. I've just...been really fucking stressed, and both my writing and my art have fallen to the side because of it, which sucks because they're generally my best method of detoxing from stress  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> anyway. I'm back, now, more or less, because it's winter break so hopefully I can get some shit done before January rolls around and I'm moving and everything is shit again lol. life's hard when you're twenty and already 6k in debt ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	6. lance, again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back, but idk if it'll last

Lance doesn’t lead him off campus, though, or to any of the school shuttle stops or parking lots. 

Instead, he leads Keith to one of the quietest places on campus, a little clearing with a few picnic benches under a huge tree, and the branches skim the grass and offer privacy from the shores of the lake the tree sits on and the buildings on the other side. 

Keith opens his mouth to question the sudden change in destination, but Lance shoots him a particularly gentle smile and he feels his throat close up, so he just shuts his jaw and lets Lance pick the smallest table to sit on, feet on the bench while they’re side by side on the tabletop. 

It’s when they’re seated that Keith realizes Lance had switched to holding his hand again at some point, and he hadn’t let go. He loses track entirely of whatever story Lance is currently regaling about Hunk, staring at their hands and how Lance’s gorgeous brown skin is so much deeper and darker than his own. 

It takes a few moments to realize Lance has stopped speaking, and he looks up when he finally does to find Lance giving him a warm little grin, all gentle eyes and sweet warmth.

Naturally, Keith’s face catches fire and he has to look away, frowning. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, because if Lance brings up Shiro or his panicking he’s gonna actually throw up.

“Okay,” Lance says simply. “What  _ do  _ you wanna talk about?”

Keith shrugs, uncomfortable but not enough to move away, and they sit in silence. It’s...not awkward, but he’s still not comfortable, so he just swallows back his feelings and stays as still as he can, lost on social norms and what you’re supposed to do in situations like these.

Lance, however, has always had the ability to make himself at home in any and all situations, so it’s probably only a minute or two before he shifts and pulls Keith’s hand into his lap, playing with his fingers. “You’re taller. Prettier. I remember when we were fourteen and I got taller than you and you  _ hated _ it.”

He’s not using his usual energetic tone, instead swapping it for a softer, quieter voice, and it soothes Keith’s nervous fluttering heart. He thinks, again, that Lance will always be the one person that can ruin him with just a fucking tone of voice, and also that he really doesn’t care. 

“Yeah,” he says, when he realizes conversations need replies, and then Lance’s words actually register and he glances over, surprised. “Wait. What? Prettier?”

Lance isn’t embarrassed or teasing like he’d expected. Instead, he looks pleased, smiling at him and lacing their fingers together. “Yeah. A lot prettier, actually.”

“Oh,” is all he can say, because he doesn’t know how to reply to that. He’s never thought of himself as pretty before, or even as attractive, if he’s being honest. It was less self-esteem and more that he just didn’t care to think about it, and he still doesn’t, but Lance’s compliment makes his cheeks warm nonetheless.

Lance gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “Is that okay? Me saying that?”

He nods helplessly, ducking his head and letting his hair slide forward and cover his blush.

Lance makes a quiet noise and nudges their shoulders together. “So. Not ready for Shiro, then? I’m not gonna ask why or whatever, but I just wanna know what I can say to him. He was worried sick when you left.”

He closes his eyes, and the guilt rises up easily, washing over him like the tide. The leaves around them rattle in a breeze, and it’s a fitting addition to the metaphor of his emotions. He doesn’t reply, extracting his hand from Lance’s to rub his face, trying to figure out if he’d be able to even deal with  _ this _ in the following week, let alone with Shiro as well.

Frustrated, he felt the backs of his eyes sting, and he swallowed it all back, forcing the guilt and the frustration and the helplessness back down where they’d originated in his chest, letting out a slow breath to make room. Lance stays quiet beside him, and he can feel a concerned stare, but he doesn’t let himself acknowledge it. 

He pushes his hair back and lets a false grin slide onto his face, relaxing once he has his reactions safely locked away. “No, no Shiro. You can tell him I’m alive and whatever, but I’m not seeing him. Not yet.”

“Alright,” Lance says carefully. “That’s fine.”

He looks over, and he’s glad he’s great at pulling the blanket of apathy over everything or Lance’s concern and wariness might’ve made him worse again. As it is, he’s okay with just widening his smile and making it as placating as he can. “I’m alright, don’t look at me like that.”

Lance shakes his head, dislodging the expression. “Right, sorry.”

He feels a flair of uncomfortable anxiety when the atmosphere gets weird again, so he slides off the table and pulls Lance with him. “I haven’t slept in like thirty hours, I’m gonna need a Red Bull to keep moving.”

Lance’s eyes widen almost comically. “Keith! No! Sleep!”

“Sleep is for the weak,” he says, because nightmares are trash and even when he doesn’t have them he doesn’t sleep well. “I’m fine. I’ll crash tonight a little early.”

Lance looks at him like he’s grown another head, so he pulls him along faster as he leads the way to the campus cafeteria. He’s gotta work on his resistance to everything Lance if Lance is coming back into his life, because Lance’s ability to sneak under all his walls is going to be a problem now that his walls are the only thing holding him together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...life is mean to me. I got let go from my job and I have to move, and I have no stable income and a small likelihood of getting rehired quickly. have a short chapter. I'm having trouble concentrating enough on these two to get through the chapters, so I might hiatus this or keep it short and switch to solangelo again because Nico's easy to fall into, idk.


	7. sleep is for the weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when will things get better? probably not now oops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all can blame Em (pussycatdraws on tumblr) for thoroughly drowning me in voltron fandom hell during her streams this past weekend, bc it meant i FINALLY had enough klance feels to work on this

As he’s staring in the coolers in the cafeteria trying to figure out if Red Bull or Monster would make him any more alive, Lance is frowning at him. “You really should sleep.”

He waves a hand dismissively, because Lance is cute in his innocence. “Yeah, yeah, mom. I’m fine.”

“Keith,” Lance says, and it’s so similar to Shiro’s old tone of voice that it makes Keith’s chest ache a little, so he reaches over and shoves Lance’s shoulder lightly in reply, keeping his smile from forming when Lance’s warm hands bat at his instantly.

Lance sort of maneuvers his arm down and into his own, so Lance is almost hanging off his side, and he can _feel_ the puppy eyes being aimed at the side of his head, s he doesn’t turn it at all, not even an inch, keeping his tone flat when he speaks. “You’re a child.”

“And you’re risking your valuable health!” Lance insists, making Keith roll his eyes.

Lance’s hand slips down to lace with his own, and he has to work to not flinch away from the touch, since they’re very much in public and he’s very much not about to share that he’s into boys when it could spell dangerous things, regardless of how accepting things supposedly are on campus. It’s a risk he doesn’t need to take, so he doesn’t have any plans to, and he has his Rules in place to keep his fucking head down and be a good boy.

Lance, though, has always, always been his exception, and he can’t bring himself to put a hurt look on such a pretty face, so he just tries to keep from tensing anywhere, not bothering to reply.

“I’m serious,” Lance whines when he figures out Keith’s not planning to say anything. “Sleep deprivation is a really big thing, and it’s really bad for you!”

“I know,” Keith says finally, trying and failing to curb his flat tone to something a little nicer, “and I’ll sleep when I get back to my room, and when I finish my homework. I have a system.”

Lance pulls away to face him, arching a brow in a challenge. “Is it really a system if it doesn’t work?”

“Oh, fuck off,” he says tiredly, because he can feel this start to become one of the things Lance is going to endlessly, endlessly challenge.

Predictably, Lance frowns. “Rude! I’m just asking!”

“Lance, I’m _fine,_ leave it the fuck alone.” He decides on Monster and pulls one from the shelf, moving to get in line.

Lance trails him, still frowning. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Stars above,” Keith blurts, exasperated. “Yes, Lance, I’m fucking fine. I’ll sleep tonight, and it’ll be fine.”

“How are you even standing right now?” Lance asks, looking a little exasperated himself.

“Practice,” he says automatically, “I take four classes and work full time. I have to pull all-nighters sometimes. It’s fine. I just crash for a while when I can.”

Lance looks even more unnerved by his answer, and Keith pushes his free hand into his hair, irritated. “Look, let’s not talk about it. You can yell at me if I collapse. I don’t work tomorrow and I don’t have classes until five, I’m sleeping for at _least_ ten straight hours once I crash.”

Appeased somewhat, Lance gives a short nod, standing beside him in line. “What now?”

“Fuck if I know, you were always the people person.” Keith shrugs, and he pretty much expects the dramatic flair in Lance’s pleased smile and gesture like _who, me_ when he knows damn well what Keith means.

Keith rolls his eyes, and Lance pulls his phone from somewhere in that shitty old hoodie he’s wearing, still grinning. Keith decides any time Lance gives him shit for his hair, he’s going after that fucking jacket. He’s 300% sure it belonged to one of Lance’s numerous, numerous cousins before it belonged to Lance, and maybe even to his older brother before that, but Lance is a sentimental shit and he’s definitely still got it for the memories.

“We’re gonna…talk,” Lance says, which is not at _all_ what Keith was expecting, so he stares.

Lance grins, and he looks warm bathed in the sunlight pouring in through the nearby window, the soft brown tone of his skin and the golden tones in his hair, and those _damn_ blue eyes all captivating and shit.

“Talk?” Keith asks finally, absently moving up in line, unable to tear his eyes away. “What about?”

“You, me, the gigantic gap of time we missed from each other’s lives?” Lance shrugs. “Things and stuff. Whatever we talk about. I dunno, man, I _missed_ you.”

Keith wants to drown and cry, and also melt. Shit.

He settles for turning to the cashier to buy his Monster, swallowing and managing a tight smile to the girl that hands him his change. Beside him, lance is very quiet, and he knows he has to address this, to respond to it, but shit. He’s having trouble thinking, functioning, everything.

The nostalgia is rising, sure, but it’s surrounded by — _drenched_ in — guilt, grief, and fear. He’s so scared of ruining this reunion, of losing Lance again, and for it to be _his_ fault.

He cracks open the Monster and leads the way out of the cafeteria at a speedier walk than he was intending, but it means there’s less people around him faster so he doesn’t slow down. He downs as much of the Monster as he can without walking into anyone and/or spilling any and also not stopping, and he keeps going until Lance’s arm catches in the crook of his, pulling him to a gentle stop.

He opens his mouth to protest, to say they’re not far enough away yet, before he realizes they’d gone quite a small distance and were, in fact, utterly alone in an empty parking lot.

Oh.

Lance’s expression is wary, concerned, and Keith fights the urge to throw up, ducking his head and swallowing. “Sorry,” he says, almost choking it out.

“If...if you don’t want to still be friends with me…” Lance starts out steady, but falters by the third word, and fades entirely on the last, sounding like he’s about to cry.

Keith’s heart seizes in his chest, and he forces his head up, knowing his eyes are wide. “That’s not it,” he said quickly. “I, no, no it’s not that. I missed you too. It’s just, I--” his voice cuts off as his throat closes up, and he leans forward a little, trying to remember how to fucking breathe.

Lance gets closer, his beat-up white trainers coming into view over the asphalt, and he hesitates on the last step. “Can...can I touch you?”

Keith manages a small nod, though he doesn’t know what Lance could do that would help this.

Lance takes the Monster that’s hanging loosely from his fingers and sets it on the ground, and then he straightens and takes Keith’s shoulders, guiding him up and pulling him into a hug before he can protest.

Embarrassingly, Keith finds himself literally bursting into tears as the gesture hits home hard, and it’s all he can do to curl his arms around Lance’s waist and bury his head into Lance’s shoulder, trying to muffle the helpless sobs.

Lance slides one hand under his short jacket to rub his back, and leaves the other around his shoulders, a comforting weight that only makes Keith cry harder, as he’d underestimated, severely, just how much he’d been starved for affection in the past several years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...aiight so. i don't have the energy for capital letters anymore tonight lmao. updates include life is still tiringly annoying, and i don't remember if i mentioned losing my seasonal job but i did, and thankfully i am now rehired at a place i actually genuinely enjoy working at. school's fucking hard in that i have a portfolio review i either need to pass now or i need to take off school after this semester until i can put enough shit together to pass, no pressure tho, it only decides if i graduate on time!!!!!(kill me)!!!!
> 
> also i gotta move ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> shit's happening and happening and happening ugh. 
> 
> these chapters are shorter than i'm used to and i'm sorry
> 
> ONTO LIGHTER THINGS; i'm considering doing picarto (or twitch idk maybe i'll try both) streams where i write live and talk with y'all and we discuss klance and solangelo and whatnot and i give my unprofessional crash course writing tips if you guys want, 'cause i have a LOT to say about writing fic if anyone wants to listen, and i have a lot to learn if anyone wants to share. lemme know if that's something you guys would be interested in? i'm likely to take drabble prompts mid-stream, and i might draw sometimes if i can do it without hating everything i do or having my programs go ass up on me. anyway! that's all i got for now, enjoy this angst and lemme know how you like it and for the love of god yell at me on tumblr (now the same name as here, fucking FINALLY, it only took YEARS to get the url) to update or i'll forget about this fic again i'm so sorry, do not ever be afraid to spam me with talk about these two and voltron in general bc the more into i am the faster i write!
> 
> OH, one last thing; (S2 SPOILERS!!! you've been warned) i googled Keith's Dad for reasons and every fucking photo is either fucking thace (like, 20% of them) or shiro, and there's a SINGLE PHOTO of that fucking scene from season two with no faces just backs and i laughed rly hard because i just wanna now what his father fucking looks like and it's just mounds and mounds of space dad shiro, this fandom's great


	8. kiss me, kiss me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's not all bad :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, alright, here.

To probably no one’s surprise but Keith’s own, he cries until he’s too exhausted to stand, and Lance sits with him on the dirty, sun-bleached asphalt, an arm around his shoulders and one of Keith’s hands laced with his other. It feels really nice, because even if he has a budding migraine, his head is on Lance’s shoulder and he can still smell green apples, even through his stuffy nose. 

It smells like what he remembers as home, and that makes him take a deep inhale in surprise. Lance shifts, brushing a kiss against the top of his head, and he lets his eyes slide shut. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I’m not usually this much of a mess.”

“Yeah,” Lance says, casual, “I’m also usually really bad at comforting people, but you’re different. Always have been.”

It sounds so much like Keith’s own admittance of Lance’s exceptions to all his rules that it makes his throat close up again for a moment, and he has to actually actively focus on remembering how to breathe.

Lance’s fingers massage his arm, and it’s incredibly soothing for such a simple gesture, and he’s able to exhale again. Quietly, Lance passes him the Monster, and he sips at it slowly. Lance waits patiently until he finishes it, and then he presses another kiss to Keith’s temple as he sits up.

Keith’s cheeks warm, and when he glances to the side, Lance has this this silly little smile, and he can’t help but roll his eyes. “What?”

“You’re cute,” Lance says simply. 

Fuck.

What the fuck?

He feels his cheeks heat up so much more so quickly, it almost makes him dizzy. 

(He’s already slightly dizzy, he has been for a while, but that’s mainly lack of sleep and lack of decent food.)

“Oh,” he says weakly, and closes his eyes, because he’s starting to realize that he might maybe possibly be attracted to Lance, now that they’re grown up and Keith’s old enough to be comfortable in attraction to others. He’s not pleased that he’s attracted exclusively to boys, but he’s managing it.

And….Lance is kind of exactly his type.

Shit.

He’s always had a thing for blue eyes and brown hair, and even warmer skin tones. He’s always liked faint freckles, always liked tall, more wiry builds, always likes smirks over smiles.

Oh, fucking  _ hell. _ His type has been  _ Lance _ the entire time.

Lance is also currently watching his expression shift through this realization with interest, so he focuses on letting his face turn blank. Lance’s eyes slide from somewhere vaguely by his mouth (which gives him an internal monologue of !!!!!!!!!!!!LANCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!) to meet his own, and he swallows.

“I know this is kind of abrupt, and I know we never were anything but friends, but I kind of really wanna kiss you.” Lance blurts it out really suddenly, and he pinks immediately afterwards. “Shit. Sorry. I do, but. Yeah.”

“Oh,” Keith says again, because his brain is pretty much only offering up a million exclamation points in a scrolling, relentless stream, and his processing has screeched to an abrupt halt.

“Shit,” Lance says again, quicker. “Shit, I’m so sorry! I didn’t meant to actually say it out loud, i just can’t help staring at your mouth, I don’t know why. I’m usually more into girls but I do like guys, too and I just...you’re so  _ pretty, _ ” He winces, and brings a hand over his mouth before scrubbing it through his hair. “...And I’m just blurting everything out, now.”

Keith swallows, shifting, unable to look away because Lance’s cheeks are red, too, and now that Lance has put the idea in his head, all he can think about is what it would be like to kiss him.

Fuck.

Fuck it.

“So do it,” he says, bold, something he used to be as a child but something that has faded since he moved and got in trouble more often than not. 

Lance’s eyes widen, and then drop again, and Keith flings caution and fear to the wind and leans in halfway.

It takes about half a second for Lance’s lips to twitch into a small, excited grin and then he leans in the rest of the way and closes the gap.

And Keith’s pretty sure the anxiety is going to eat him alive later, but right now he’s just sort of reveling in the feeling of Lance’s mouth, soft and warm, against his own. It’s nice, much nicer than kissing anyone else, mostly because Lance is somehow still incredibly familiar even after all these years and because he has always loved Lance to some degree, and it’s safe. It feels safe, and warm, and sweet.

So little things feel like that to him anymore, and it’s addicting, so he shifts close again and deepens the kiss, wondering if he can feel any better than he does right now.

The answer, he finds out very quickly, is very much yes. Lance kisses like he talks, all wild energy and fully alive, fast paced and a little messy and pretty much all-encompassing in the way he captures Keith’s attention, all of it, instantly. There’s no background thoughts, just this, and that alone makes him never want to pull away.

He loses track of time, of space, of anything but the sensory mass that is Lance’s touch and Lance’s soft sighs and the scent of that damn shampoo and his subtle cologne, and he doesn’t really come back into himself until he’s dizzy from lack of oxygen and Lance is gently pulling back, breathing hard. 

“Fuck,” Lance breathes, leaning their foreheads together. “Yeah, okay. That’s...that should happen again, if you want.”

He can’t help but laugh a little, and he closes his eyes again, savoring the feel of Lance’s hand buried into his hair. “Yeah,” he agreed, instant. “Yeah, definitely. Yeah.”

“Awesome,” Lance breathes, leaning in and pressing another kiss to his mouth, and he loses track of time all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if I did do a stream, what days and what times would work for you guys? I'm on the EST time zone, and I'm aiming for maybe Wednesdays or something like that. I can't guarantee regular timing because my job sort of schedules me randomly, but I can probably set a day, at least. It'd keep me writing pretty regularly too, and I love grabbing inspiration and wrapping it up into fics. I dunno, I gotta figure out my life and how I wanna do it aha. Give me your thoughts!
> 
> Also. Sorry, I'm both less stable and more so, and uh...I'm actually now dating someone, which is really, really weird for me but also very pleasant. So yeah. I'm Doing Things, being productive. Also, I'm now 21, which doesn't feel real at all aha and since I have about -4000 interest in alcohol, it was a very uneventful bday. I dunno. It's weird, I have nothing much to say even tho a lot has happened, I'm just used to updating you guys aha.


	9. panic attack and good friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a panic attack in this chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmmm i'll explain the gap at the end, for now have a lanceless chapter. sorry aha. also i changed the chapter titles bc i actually care about this fic now that i figured out why i was having such a fucking block with it (it wasn't flowing bc i was heading to a resolutory state long before it should have been arriving for some reason), so it should be easier for me to work on and update from now on.

The week is kind of weird after that, Keith realizes. He doesn’t know what to do, who should text first and if it’s weird to send  _ i miss you _ at midnight when he can’t sleep and his chest aches with memories of everything he’s lost.

He doesn’t really do this people thing, and Lance knows that, so why he still hasn’t fucking texted three days later is a goddamn mystery. Keith knows Lance has his number, he fucking texted  _ himself _ off of Keith’s phone after adding the contact.

And, for a bonus, he knows where Keith  _ works _ , so if by some cataclysmic event were his phone fucking  _ melted _ or whatever and he somehow lost Keith’s number, the least he could do was fucking  _ stop by _ . Keith’s not fucking bitter, he’s  _ angry _ .  _ Lance _ kissed  _ him _ , and  that’s the first move. That’s what that  _ is _ , that’s what you  _ do, _ and Keith moved back and gave him his number, and now it’s Lance’s turn again. 

It’s a game, like everything else. A stupid game that Keith hates playing, because no one seems to follow the fucking rules, and he’s left with situations like  _ this _ to deal with. He genuinely does not have the spare time or emotional energy to let Lance sweep back into his life and fuck him up so thoroughly without staying long enough to keep from there being an aftermath.

There is one.

And it  _ sucks. _

Pidge has even stopped coming in for their daily coffee, so Keith can’t even ask if they know what the fuck happened. It’s bullshit, this is bullshit, he wants to physically remove his heart and set it on fire. Feelings suck, nothing is worth it, and he wants to die.

He knows, logically, that this is hormones and mental health talking, but fucking  _ hell _ even with all the logic in the world he’s still  _ feeling _ like this. He can tell himself all the facts he likes, it’s not easing the ache in his chest and how hard it is to keep breathing steady.

Because there’s thoughts chewing at his sanity, gnawing on the back of his mind that say Lance never texted because Keith’s too different, too much has changed, the kiss was a test and he fucking failed it. Lance regrets finding him again, regrets the kiss, and he knows how much of a mess Keith is. And it’s too much.

They’re like poison, cloying and thick and clogging up every memory, insidiously making him wonder if Lance always found him Too Much, but never knew how to say it. Did Lance ever seek him out, really, or was it always the other way around? Has Keith been reading into this, into them, the entire time?

Has Lance ever really liked him at all?

He closes his eyes and pulls at his hair, curled in the back of the library trying to force himself to focus enough to study, but irrational thoughts and anxiety are the best of friends and he’s got both of them in droves, so he sort of feels like he’s drowning. It sucks, because he doesn’t remember being like this as a kid — sure, he got nervous here and there, but everyone does...right? — And it’s awful, awful,  _ awful _ . 

He wants to die, because his heart is beating too fast and he can’t control his breathing enough to slow it down and he’s gonna have a fucking panic attack in this fucking library  _ again _ , and he’s  _ not a fan. _

“No,” he says, like this is something he can plead away, “No, no no no,  _ please _ not today, no,  _ please no _ .”

He pulls harder at his hair, tries to focus on that instead of how his hands have started to tremble. It’s a losing battle, and he feels the cold, unpleasant grasp of anxiety around his lungs and heart, squeezing and squeezing until he’s nothing but mushy remains.

“Keith?” He hears, but he can’t open his eyes and his brain is too loud to hear the voice well enough to place it.

“Keith. Keith, hey, are you okay?” It’s closer, and it might be a guy, but god, he can’t. He can’t focus. He can barely hear it, even when it’s louder.

Someone touches him, and he jerks away, just barely managing to stop the scream that tries to rip up and out of his throat. He wants to die, he wants this to end, it’s too much and it’s too loud and it’s never going to end, and he’s going to be trapped here until he fucking suffocates and chokes.

Someone’s still saying his name, blended in with other words, but nothing makes sense. It’s muddled, like he’s listening through water, but the tone...is soothing. It’s steady, and even, and Keith latches onto it with everything he can, trying to focus on it and use it to drown out the rest. Anything, anything for relief.

Slowly, surely, the panic abates and the voice continues. Even when the noise dies down and his blood and breath stop pounding, rushing in his ears, he still doesn’t make sense of anything. It doesn’t matter. It’s just the tone, the soothing tone, that’s all he cares about. It just can’t stop, not yet.

Blessedly, it doesn’t, not until he’s got his head on his knees and he feels like he can open his eyes without dying, like he can lower his hands and flex out the ache in his fingers and rub away the tear tracks on his cheeks. When he finally does sit up, he’s actually very, very surprised to see Hunk sitting across from him, looking mildly concerned and mostly just calmly relieved.

“Hey,” Hunk says, placid even though Keith’s sure his eyes are the size of dinner plates. “Anxiety sucks, man. Feeling any better?”

He nods absently, automatically responding to the question, though he feels like he’s still not processing anything. He opens his mouth, but it takes a moment for him to find his voice again, and it crack unpleasantly on the first word. He ignores it, like always. “What are you doing here?”

Hunk shrugs, and sets an engineering book on the table. “Trying not to fail my classes. You?”

Keith swallows, pushes a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair and massaging his aching chest. “Um, same, I guess.”

It’s incredibly awkward, but he seems to be the only one feeling it, because Hunk’s as chill as ever. He even smiles, all warm and familiar. “Usually what libraries are for. You look like you could use a study break, though, wanna go get something to drink or eat? I’m always hungry after panic attacks, they eat up so much energy.”

Wait. What?

“You have panic attacks?” He can’t stop himself from blurting the question, because Hunk’s always been that one kid to question everyone’s safety, but he’s never been  _ panicky _ about it, and he’s so...calm.

“Yeah,” Hunk says easily. “Fair of failure, and whatnot. I get ‘em every semester during midterms and finals. They  _ suck _ .”

“Oh,” he says, because there’s nothing else to really say and agreement just seems hollow when it’s so obvious. 

“So.” Hunk places his hands on the book in front of him. “I gotta check this out first, but shall we go get some food? My treat!”

Free food has always fucking been Keith’s weakness, so even though he’s shaky and still kinda terrified of and pissed at Lance and Hunk is Lance’s best friend  _ and _ roommate, he nods. He hasn’t eaten anything beyond energy drinks and ramen in like a week anyway, and he’s jittery and just slightly nauseous and Hunk got him wound down a lot faster than he usually does, so...he’ll let this happen.

He’ll ask about Lance later, probably, when he’s feeling less like the ever-present looming figure of death isn’t breathing down his damn neck and more like a human being. He nods, and Hunk stands, and he helps Keith pick up all his shit and put the books away on the designated return shelf. Keith walks beside him to the checkout area, and Hunk carries on an easy one-sided conversation about the merits of the various food places on campus, and he doesn’t seem to mind Keith’s little nods or head shakes as responses at all.

It’s weirdly nice, weirdly calm after such a hellish three days, and though Keith feels like he should still be angry and bitter (oh, whatever, sure, he  _ was _ a little bitter) and whatever else, he isn’t. He’s just kind of hurt, and mostly numb and tired. Hunk’s voice is still soothing, and he’s every bit as cheerful and pleasant to be around as he was as a kid. 

Keith feels himself relaxing for the first time in days, and with the exception of Lance, really truly letting himself just be for the first time in years. He doesn’t try to censor his facial expressions, or monitor the fidgeting of his hands, and Hunk never once gets annoyed or put off. The relief swells until it washes over him and lets him breathe again, and the sun feels nice on his cheeks as they finally get outside, something that hasn’t been something he’d noticed for a very long time.

Hunk’s raving about a burrito from this one food truck that shows up sometimes, and Keith tilts his face back until the sun warms every part, and Hunk just verbally cues him when they turn, never breaking stride in either the actual walking  _ or _ his current story. It’s nice, and Keith just listens, and realizes maybe Lance isn’t the only person it’s been shitty being without. He’d never felt like they were close, not intimate like he and Lance were, but they had been friends, and Keith’s missed him.

“I missed you,” he blurts, opening his eyes and glancing over.

Hunk blinks, pausing, and then beams at him. “I missed you too, buddy!”

It gets him a one-armed hug, and when he doesn’t protest it, it’s a full hug. Surprising even himself, he finds his arms raising to return it without even thinking about it, just melting into the warm, comforting embrace of a friend that has never wanted or needing anything other than Keith’s simple presence to be happy with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that relationship lasted nine days because previous...i don't wanna say trauma because it wasn't at the time, but it has fucked up, so previous drama meant i spent all of them anxious and getting steadily more so until i broke up with him and cried my way through the morning. i haven't really talked to him since and i think i fucked him up :/  
> so that was part of why i haven't updated, i didn't wanna address it. but we talked, and though he did say it was a rly rough month for him (://///) he wasn't mean or distant or anything, so. idk.  
> additionally, it was finals in april, and my dumbass stopped caring about my french class after spring break so i was borderline failing the whole end of the semester lmao. i passed, but that was annoying.   
> i started a hq!! iwaoi fic after that, and it's gotten me back into the swing of writing and updating bc it was coming, for a while, a lot easier than this one. i wrote this after an almost 3k update for that one, which went up like ten minutes ago. i'm now officially out fo school for the summer, so hopefully i'll be able to write more. i'm already busting through my art block (god fucking bless abt that tbh), and the other fic is almost at 10k, so yeah, it's looking good.  
> anyway, that's the updates for now. thank y'all for being so patient and kind, and i'm sorry i'm bad at this fic. i hope it still winds into something worth reading for ya, please let me know anything you'd like to see or see fixed in future updates!


	10. baby come back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance's return, keith's failing mental health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written off of personal thoughts in vagueing format lmao, nothing too recent but def things i've felt. warnings for...shit, idk. i guess general vague depression and loneliness, and treating mental health like an annoying pet you have to take care of because someone fucking left it for you to petsit and you don't even _like_ this particular breed of pet, what the fuck man, go away

Pidge is genderfluid, Keith discovers later that week. It’s during a shift, when Pidge arrives and tells him they’re staying until he’s off work and then he’s coming with them. He blurts out a helpless plea to let him go home and not do whatever it is, and it’s fruitless. They do, in passing, mention that today’s pronouns are neither he or she but they and that he should expect updates if he’s gonna stick around.

It later, now, and he’s a little tipsy, a little dizzy off of cheap beer and the feeling of his heart beating too fast, and he doesn’t remember when he ate last or what it was, and he hasn’t slept in probably thirty hours. He knows, instinctively, that this is what it feels like when you’re slowly losing yourself, but he can’t bring himself to do much about it. Lance, he finally finds out, has been back home dealing with a family emergency, and left his phone behind like a dumbass.

It’s a very Lance thing to do, apparently, even now. Keith remembers him doing shit like this when they were kids, so it’s less disbelief and anger and more aches and resignation. He knows Lance isn’t doing it on purpose, would hate himself for hurting Keith like this, but it’s happening nonetheless. Keith isn’t angry with Lance, but he is angry, mainly at the universe.

Damn the fates, he’d like something nice in his life that doesn’t end up fucking hurting like a rusty knife being slowly turned in his chest later on. He wants something happy that doesn’t chip away at him in the night, something that lasts as more than a temporary band-aid.

Hunk and Pidge took responsibility for Keith’s current shitty mood and brought him over to Hunk and Lance’s dorm for drinks and games and food, and yet all Keith has really done is drink and try to stop the fucking world from spinning.

There’s a plate somewhere to his left and the food on it smells amazing, but he can’t make himself focus enough to eat. He knows, distantly, that he’s hungry and that he likes the way food tastes, but right now eating is the last thing he wants to do. The way he’s feeling right now is his fault and his alone, from the dizziness to the aches in his knuckles to the shivers down his spine to the fucking heartbreak in his chest.

No one is trying to hurt him.

He knows this.

But he’s so fucking bottled up with fear and pain and memories of the past that it feels like the world is out to get him at this point, and he can barely breathe sometimes because it builds and crushes down on his shoulders. His lungs cannot lift the weight, his heart cannot relieve the strain, his hope is a fucking match in a thunderstorm and all he can do is shield it with his hands as best as he can.

He wants to be happy, but he doesn’t really know how anymore, so he ends up like this, busted and broken over things out of everyone’s control but his own. Lance did not do this to hurt, whatever emergency he’s dealing with is not a cosmic attempt to further ruin Keith’s life, and this shitty beer and the dizzy aching in his body is penance for a crime he hasn’t committed. 

This is not because he’s worthless, he tells himself, and maybe if he repeats it enough it will actually start sounding real.

He tips the bottle in his hand to his lips and closes his eyes as the cheap taste washes down his throat, letting Hunk and Pidge’s conversation flow over his head. He hears his name, probably, but he doesn’t pay it any attention. He does not have the energy to focus, barely has the energy to keep nursing this beer and hope it’ll fucking knock him out like he wants it to.

Exhaustion pulls and prods at his consciousness, distorts his bitter thoughts even more and probably makes them worse, and he’s a little annoyed when a passing notion of not waking up again scrolls through.

He’s not fucking interested in that, thank you very much. Intrusive little thoughts like that can fuck off. he refuses to treat them like something real, because if he does than he’s probably more fucked up than he thought, and he already thinks it’s plenty. No thank you, he’s not adding that issue to his very long list.

Lance’s voice shocks him out of his thoughts, and before he can process it completely he’s spinning around and catching himself on the floor he’s sitting on when his head spins wildly. He doesn’t,  _ really really doesn’t _ want to be crying right now, but he feels the streaks the tears leave on his cheeks and resigns to hate himself for it later. 

Lance shuts the dorm door immediately, literally drops the bags he’s holding right there on the floor without a moment’s pause, and strides forward until he can drop down and pull Keith into a hug. Something he’s saying sounds surprised, but Keith still can’t fucking focus, so it’s just meaningless sounds around him as he folds into Lance’s arms.

He hears his name, several times from Lance in increasingly worried tones, then again in Hunk’s and Pidge’s voices in calmer, but still concerned tones. By the amount of other sounds that don’t stop, he assumes they’re talking about him, but he doesn’t care. Lance is warm and  _ here _ and everything feels a lot less like shit, and he’ll deal with his terrible mental health tomorrow. All that matters right now is this, is Lance and the way his hand smooths through Keith’s hair and his arm is a warm weight on the small of his back, how his hold is relaxing from something frantic to something soothing and soft.

He shouldn’t fall asleep right here, not without getting his shit together and certainly not without talking about why he’s such a fucking mess, but his control slips right out of his fingers and his eyes close of their own accord, and the last thing he registers is green apple shampoo and a kiss brushed against his temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so on this continuing rainbow of good luck, my house's water main, conveniently located on the outside of my bedroom, decided to up and fucking break and flood my room, the walls in the bathroom, and my roommate's room, bc the bathroom and a tiny hall are all that separate us. we had our water shut off for three days and i had to move entirely out of my room and get rid of half my carpeting, and i'm still out of it, and still have no usable flooring, and i can't move back in until earliest sometime next week most likely. so idk where any of my shit is bc i had to speed pack in boxes, it's a; piled in the livingroom, and i hate that i have the audacity to own things rn ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> i wish i was joking lmao i have really shitty luck. anyway, i wrote this in my living room at like eleven thirty at night, now ima go sleep in the living room and pray all our pets let me sleep past seven am and i have enough energy to get to work tomorrow. if i can get some damn stabilitly back i'll try to work on longer chapters. sorry y'all.


	11. can't be wrong can't be right, so it's something in between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance's sweet, and keith grapples with his past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ........this isn't directly inspired by my own life, but it's not entirely separated, either. i'm not so much reaching for heartbreak as i am exploring the effects a disconnect has. it should make sense as you read, hopefully.

He wakes up with a killer fucking headache but honestly he probably deserves it, so he’s not really mad about it. It’s more resignation.

He’s not really sure where he is for the first moment, but he figures out he’s still in Hunk's and Lance’s dorm when he recognizes the smell of Lance’s cologne on the blanket he has over him. The roughness of the fabric under his cheek means he’s on the couch, but that’s alright. He’ll take the couch over being alone in his room right now, because the couch means there’s a high probability he’s not gonna wake up to an empty dorm.

Sure enough, he can hear movement, and the smell of coffee makes him drag himself relatively upright. His hair’s a goddamn mess, but he’s still a little to drained to give much of a shit, so he leaves it alone in favor of rubbing his face and trying to pretend there isn’t a terrible taste in his mouth.

Before he’s even fully awake, he feels a kiss on his forehead, and he opens his eyes to Lance’s soft grin and a mug of hot black coffee being gently pushed into his hands.

He doesn’t bother asking how Lance knows he doesn’t like cream, and he’d ask for sugar but that would require speaking and he’s not up for that, so he just blows on it until he can take a sip.

It’s almost as sweet as syrup, and he wants to cry because this is  _ exactly _ how he’d liked it in middle school and it is exactly how he likes it now. Lance somehow remembered his basic coffee preference, even though back then he’d hated coffee himself. It’s all he can do to meet Lance’s eyes and not burst into tears.

Lance sits on the coffee table, facing him, gently massaging the tops of Keith’s thighs since his hands are busy wrapped around the mug and leeching it’s warmth. “I’m sorry,” Lance says softly. “I didn’t mean to leave like that. I was so excited about my niece being born that I completely forgot to even grab my phone off the charger before I left. I realized halfway there, but I didn’t memorize your new number yet and neither Hunk or Pidge knew it or where to find you when you weren’t at work.”

Keith frowns, but before he can mention the library, Lance is continuing. “And since I do shit like this all the time, they didn’t realize I wasn’t just forgetting to reply to them, and figured I was just replying to you. But, obviously, that’s not what happened. I’m so sorry, you probably felt like I was abandoning you or something, but I  _ swear _ I’m just a dumbass.”

Oh.

Okay, yeah. Lance was never good at texting, like, ever. Keith always just went over to his house and climbed in through his window whenever he actually wanted to talk, since Lance would take hours to even notice a fucking text, let alone reply to it. It makes sense, and his chest loosens.

Lance’s hands are almost as warm as the coffee mug, and he’s still gently massaging, and it’s ridiculously soothing. “I can’t promise it’ll never happen again, but I  _ do _ promise to memorize your number so when I do forget my phone I can let you know off of someone else’s. We’ll probably end up killing their battery, ‘cause I like hearing your voice and I  _ missed _ you.”

He loses the battle against his tears, and it’s mortifying, so he ducks his head and hopes his messy hair will hide his blush as well.

Lance coos, though, and cups his cheeks, and he wants to instinctively fight it and lean into it at the same time. Pride tells him to bat the hands away and punch Lance for good measure, but the touch-starved part of him is singing, so he leans into it instead. He has to swallow a whine when Lance pulls his hands away after only a moment, but the disappointment doesn’t last because Lance shifts to sit on the couch with him and move them both until he’s sitting with Keith leaning against his chest and his arms and legs loosely wrapped around Keith’s.

It’s entirely too much clingy starfishing, probably, but Keith  _ loves _ it and melts into the hold, sipping at his coffee while Lance plays with his hair. This is, easily, one of the best moments of his life.

“I don’t know if you remember my sister’s husband, but he’s the one with the sleeve of  _ sick _ tattoos. Well, he and my sister finally had a kid, and she’s  _ so _ cute, Keith, you don’t understand. I’m an uncle now! Like, I have second cousins or whatever because like five of my cousins are already married with kids, but this is a lot closer. I’m an  _ uncle _ , which means I can spoil the kid and no one can stop me and I don’t have to change any diapers!” Lance sounds so warm as he talks about his family, and it’s nice. Keith’s input isn’t needed, which is also really nice, and Lance talks all about his sister and her husband and their new daughter, and all about the cousins Keith had known when they were kids, and his parents, and it’s sweet. 

Keith doesn’t have anyone like that to talk about himself, but Lance has more than enough for both of them with the size of his extended family, so there’s no awkward silences. It’s not painful like Keith thought it might be, and he misses his parents to a certain degree, but there’s no ache in his chest. He was never overly close to anyone in his family, and he’d lost all contact with those distant cousins still in Korea and such. His parents hadn’t been an exception to that, to he misses the family until they’d represented and the steady reliability of having a home, and he misses his mother’s cooking and his dad’s hugs, but...there’s enough of a disconnect for this not to be ruined by his losses.

He can listen to Lance rave about his mom and not want to cry for the loss of his own, and he’s grateful. He remembers Lance’s family, how warm and  _ alive _ they were, and he misses that almost more than he misses the routine of his own family life. 

After a while, he gets distracted by this train of thought, and finds himself interrupting Lance accidentally. “Am I a terrible person?”

“...and she’s got this blue hair now that’s the  _ coolest _ fucking thi—” Lance breaks off abruptly. “Wait. What?”

Keith shrugs the shoulder not resting against Lance’s chest.

“No,” Lance says firmly, combing his fingers through Keith’s now tamed hair. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Because,” he says, after a moment of gathering up the energy to talk about it. “I don’t know if I’m missing my...if I’m missing it enough.” He can’t bring himself to say ‘parents’ in this context, and maybe Lance won’t understand and he can change his mind and not talk about it at all.

Lance sighed. “Keith, there’s no ‘right’ way to miss something or to grieve for something. And besides, I think I know what you’re getting at, and, buddy…your parents weren’t exactly the warmest people. Don’t get me wrong, they totally loved you and it’s awful what happened, but being in your house was…. _ weird.” _

Keith tilts his head and shifts around until he can see Lance’s expression, which looks awkward. “Why?” he asks simply.

Lance avoids his eyes for a moment, blowing out a breath. “It...felt cold, I guess. Like, everything you did was so scheduled. You even got  _ hugs _ by schedule, one before you leave for school and one from each parent when they got home, and one before you went to sleep. It was  _ weird, _ like you were following the template of a family without actually knowing what family really was. And I know there’s a cultural difference and shit like that, but I dunno. I feel like it was more than that.”

Keith’s stomach is twisting strangely, because nothing Lance is saying is wrong. It’s uncomfortable, though, because he feels like he should be angry, or hurt, and he should defend something that should be there. He  _ does _ know his parents loved him, but they weren’t exactly the best at showing it. Keith’s dad was always kind of distant, and his mom was sweet and less strict but she still wasn’t very fond of physical contact. When he thinks about it, he’s received more hugs from Lance’s parents than he ever did from his own.

“Oh,” he says, because he doesn’t know how to process this. He’s been struggling with what grief is supposed to feel like and what he’s been feeling for years, but he’s never really considered  _ why _ . He never really knew who his parents were, so maybe he just...didn’t know them enough to truly grieve. But that feels wrong, because that’s where he grew up. he spent fifteen years with them, he should have known them better.

Lance strokes through his hair, and he looks sad. “I’m sorry. I wish this hadn’t happened to you. I wish you had a family like mine.” 

“Me too,” Keith says softly, setting his head back on Lance’s shoulder. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't wanna essay out what i meant by this being close to my own life, but my family has done things that has made me place a distance between us for my own mental health, so that disconnect between what something should feel like and what i feel is very much a personal thing.


	12. of shiro and of dreaming, of wings and of falling

When he dreams, he is Icarus, and his wings are cobbled from sticky paste and worn out feathers. He is flying, but only barely, so he climbs the tallest cliff he can find and throws himself off of it, because he can’t stand being so close to the ground when the promise of flight is so near.

He falls, and falls, and his breath is caught in his chest and the air stings his cheeks and pulls tears from his eyes as it rips by, and suddenly his wings spread and catch and  _ then, _ oh  _ then _ he soars, and he flies up and up and up. The sun’s warm glow falls over him, and the ground is patchwork nonsense far beneath him, and he wants to go  _ higher _ . The stars, the stars, he must  _ touch _ the stars, they  _ call _ his name--

But it’s hot.

It’s too hot, it’s  _ so _ hot, and the paste, it’s melting, dripping, gluing his fingers together and yet letting the feathers slip away. He was so close, so  _ close _ and yet here is is, losing altitude as rapidly — no,  _ more _ — than he’d gained it, and the ocean is a sparkling mass than spreads wide down below, and it grows in detail as he rushes closer and closer, faster and faster.

He doesn’t feel the impact, because he wakes up gasping right before, when he’d closed his eyes in the dream.

His shirt sticks to his back, sweat making his hair cling to his neck and his sheets tangle around his legs. Everything is disgustingly moist, and he cringes with his entire body, before giving into the gross feeling and rolling off the bed entirely, stripping his sheets as he goes.

He tiptoes out of his dorm, downstairs to the basement and puts his sheets to wash, and then it’s back up and into the showers. His phone says it’s four twenty-six in the morning, and that’s far too early or way too late, and yet he knows he won’t be able to sleep any further that night.

Unfortunately, he’d been studying until two.

The week following his and Lance’s heart-to-heart had been fucking hell, and he was able to sleep even less than usual, and even to focus less, but tonight certainly fucking takes the cake. He’s aggravated, furious with himself and with the universe for giving him some kind of terrible metaphor of a life. He’d read Icarus’s myth as a child and had barely spared it a thought since, but here he fucking is, and he could apply the entire dream to his life and see a perfect graph of his mental state.

It’s fucking frustrating, and  _ this is bullshit _ , he thinks as he scrubs the sweat out of his hair. What the hell did he do to deserve this, anyway? He’d been keeping his head down, doing his fucking work and staying in school and keeping a steady job, and yet he still feels like dying when he steps back and really thinks about things.

Lance is wonderful, and Keith is beyond grateful to have him back, but…hard as he tries, Lance is not a miracle cure for the things in Keith that have broken.

He is a balm, of course, a gentle wash and a soft touch over the wounds that seem to keep fucking reopening. He is cool hands on Keith’s overheated skin, a friendly voice on the other end of the phone when Keith’s having trouble keeping his head, and he’s everything that matters when nothing seems to feel okay anymore.

Hunk and Pidge are worming their way into his life as well, subtle and yet so very important. He’d list the ways they help, but he doesn’t have the words. The three of them are just an infallible support group, warm and welcoming even when Keith’s a fucking mess of himself. He’s had multiple meltdowns, and each time, at least one of them had been able to help him wind back down and soothe away the cause.

It’s been a month.

He still hasn’t gotten his shit together enough to even contemplate meeting Shiro.

Lance confessed, seven hours ago and via text, that Shiro now knows he’s alive and nearby.

Six hours ago, Lance confessed that Shiro had started to cry when he got the news.

Five hours ago, Keith learned Shiro was still crying.

When he didn’t respond, Lance told him to take his time until he felt ready, and not to worry, and Keith had had to take a bathroom break away from Hunk and cry himself. Shortly after that, Hunk had to help him wind down from another panic attack.

He wants to meet Shiro again. He  _ does _ , but part of the reason for this month’s hell on his sanity is that he might actually  _ meet Shiro again. _ He can’t stop the anxious flutter that his heart does when he thinks about it, and he’s figured out that Shiro had always, always been the person he went to when he needed support, back then.

Shiro had been his brother in everything but blood, the only person that truly understood him, down to his core. Even his ethnicity was a source of similar experiences, as Shiro’s Japanese heritage meant he went through the same vaguely racist comments Keith had in their small town high school. Keith had shared  _ everything _ with him, all his struggles and all his happiness, and Shiro had been his true family.

With the realization that his parents were less than ideal, Shiro’s presence in his life and the important role he’d played made everything so much harder, because Keith  _ knew _ now. He’d had a fucking ice bath of clarity, and Shiro went from a lost friend he’d somehow never gotten over losing to a lost  _ brother _ , and that made so much more sense with the proportional hole in his fucking heart.

Lance and Shiro were the two most important people in his life, and Lance alone could turn his entire head upside-down and topsy-turvy. And with that perspective, thinking about what Shiro could do?

Fucking terrifying.

He really, genuinely was not ready for it, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could put it off when it was pulling him apart at the very seams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk. this is less a fully planned out affair and more of an ongoing exploration of Keith's life after the prompt I gave myself. Thoughts are more than welcomed. additionally, i'm thinking of starting to seriously work on my personal, original work, and i'm curious as to if there would be any interest in readers here learning about my plans for an actual novel, or whatever i end up doing. i'd like to kind of be able to post snippets and such and gain opinions and flesh out my characters better with being able to see what others think. i'm even kind of thinking of trying out taking prompts for them, so i'm forced to figure out what they'd do in certain situations and who they are. idk, i'm still in the early processes of deciding, though i've had these characters in my head for...like, literal years.


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